A unique style of poetry, with rhymes within rhymes within rhymes, updated daily.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

BORN OF INNOCENCE. AND THEN?

Infants are born with brand new, innocent eyes that open wide to each surprise that comes into their young, still unsung lives. Their first awareness is of ma and pa and all who come to ooh and ah in their face and embrace them lovingly in this world that welcomes them to be members of the family.

They find peace, security and purity in this place called "home." They start life with a cry and soon learn by shedding tears and filling ears with the sound of their newfound voice that they can get on demand anything that is their choice.

They don't understand why mothers comply so quickly to their cry. But mothers know best. She presses them to her breast, They instinctively reach for the warm, fluid and coo and suck so lucky to have this source of food and drink. They intuitively know this is a gift of love that will grow and grow. In time they'll learn to crawl and stand and walk and talk just like big people do, They'll lean how to express their love for you.

But as life goes on it will slowly dawn on their new awareness that many of their peers could care less about what benefits others in a grown up "Me and Mine Society." WE will cease to be a priority. Nothing will again be free. Mother's breast will no longer supply the peace that money cannot buy. Only gold that's bought and sold, stocks and bonds and willing blondes and women of varied shades of skin and hair. will sell their soul on a roll of the dice or a price that's right on a drunken night.

What has happened to our youth when truth, honesty and integrity were hallmarks of reality and democracy had not succumbed to a hip hypocrisy? When family love could not be bought? When what was what meant allot?

Some had patriotic pride, defied the rest and tried their best but the failed prevailed and----well, you know the rest.

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About Me

After nearly 50 years as a newspaper reporter and editor I retired from daily journalism and became the editor of a Florida magazine for several years until it
went bust. Now I have returned full-time to my first love, poetry, and have developed a unique new style of verse which I call "Rhyme on Rhyme on Rhyme."
I have written nearly 1,000 verses on a wide range of topics and average about five new pieces a week.
Comments are welcomed, especially from fellow bloggers.
R.I.P. Ed (Wegads) Weiland. Ed died on January 29, 2012 at the age of 88. We will continue his blog by posting some of the hundreds of poems he left behind. We'll also be publishing some of his writings in book and ebook form. There are many pre-computer works of his yet to be transcribed, including plays and short stories.